:: human are less than dolphin when it come to music ::

“When was the last time you just close your eyes and really listen to the music?” Jeremy Clarkson once wrote in his Sunday column. Now-a-day, it doesn’t matter if we are driving boring commute, or busy cranking at the office, we have can access to our music collection in many ways at anytime. Subconsciously, our favorite tunes have become background music for the task on hands.

In the past, music used to be luxury, you either know how to play it yourself, or you go to see someone play at a venue. As soon as the first recording machine created, music could than be reproduced; live music event become something for occasion.

In daily bases, music has becomes ambient noise; it is no longer pleasurable. Dolphin might be the only mammal that pleasure for sex; very soon, the only living organisms that will enjoy music are our household pets. Because while we are busy browsing the web, doing dishes, our pets just lay back and chill along the tunes we put on.

That was why I had decided to spend 2 hours on this lovely summer afternoon to take my time and enjoy some of my favorite tracks over all these years. It took an hour to compose a track list of eighteen, with most of the track being 320 kilobits per second, burnt them on a high-sensitive “red coated” CD-R at 4x write speed.

Afterward, I migrated to my living room where my Yamaha digital receiver, and Pioneer analogue amp, resides along with its 5.1 surround sound speakers. Dropped my freshly brewed demo disc onto a disc player tray that it was connected via optical cable to the amp unit.

The disc started playing and I spent the last few moment to switch the Yamaha to the SCH Stereo profile; beyond this point, all I did was to relax on a dark brown leather couch with eyes lightly shut, and let the rhythmic sound flood the dwelling. No iPhone,, no MacPro space heater, no exhilarating exhaust G35 node, just music and music only.

I did not even sing along like my usual self-driving within the isolated confine; every spectrum, every detail, of the audio track came to fruition. Like a well-engineered automobile, it communicated with you. It told you every bump on the road; it warned you as the tire begin to lose traction.

A song, at its purist listening pleasure, does exactly that. With eyes closed, you pick up notes once never aware; the variation of instruments separate, collide, and layer on top of each other; vocal unfolds like silk slipping from bare skin.

Of course, I cannot afford to just sit and listen to music all day, I have other mission I must accomplish; like this blog. But I can tell you, I never listening to music when I write, mainly because I find it distracting to listen to another voice while I am jogging my own down, more importantly, I am saving the pleasure of music for an occasion that is plain monotonous, calm and task-free, a moment when music deserve its audience.

:: let's play! ::

After two rounds of blog posting, I think it is about time to align my yakking toward thesis research. At this perfect moment, I browsed through a blog post, study model, from one of my architecture friend Josh, who is questioning a similar problem in architectural pedagogy – conceptual representation.

This would not be my initial attempt to explore such issue, but every time half way through the investigation, it had always detoured into an actual design project. Thus this time, I will reserve this as a sub theme for my thesis interest…

Back to the question regarding conceptual representation; the corner stone for all competition entry, project bidding and portfolio building. This skill is so essential that it becomes extremely hard to achieve. Even one has excellent artistic talents and/or design concept, communicating one’s idea flawlessly is as impossible as drawing straight lines during an off-road rally race.

Architectural academies their protégée to crank out overly elaborate design concepts; on the flip side of that coin, talking to the practical architects, who know nothing but how to edit their X-Ref in 1000 really uninteresting manners, will tell you the best design is a Lowe’s buffet.

Why can we not be innovative and playful? For Mies sake, we are part of the design community, is our goal is to seek for a better way to live? Do we all sacrifice sleepless night to dream of something that we hate? No. Aren’t we all do what we do because we love what we do?

If someone walk through the front door of a design firm does not give a damn about design should not only be not hire but should indeed thrown into exile. But for someone walk in an architecture office has no sense of humor should really stop breathing.

It is like my writing style, mostly idiotic and obscene for thesis document, is joyful to write. I must admit reading Jeremy Clarkson’s book and watching too much Top Gear has contribute a fair amount on this lunacy; however, writing in this manner is airy and fun. I dislike scholarly writings not only because they all sounds like a poorly writing instruction on how to defuse a nuclear bomb, I loathe them because you will never hear me talk in such a way even I am presenting a project in critique.

It is like cook, too, despite from all the facebook and twitter photo uploads, I always tell people I don’t cook - I just play. It is the playfulness that yields for happy accident in the end.

Earlier today, I had commented on Josh’s blog entry “in which you could call this a manifesto if you want, but it’s probably not”, saying writings could be as effective as sketch models, nevertheless, they were another medium for design. Since my writing craft was limited, I shall remain in the rhyme of obsessive model making.

Finally, a note to self; I probably should not write at late night because my brain does not know how to slow down, thus when I hit the bed sheet, floating like space debris it keeps thinking. But this habit of blogging is good, it allows me to jog down ridiculous thoughts down and onto the cyber space; more importantly, it gives me a chance to critically polish my not so critical writing skills.

:: the architectural-engineering twilight ::

In today’s civilized society, we, as a collective body of diverse interests, had figured out that the four seasons which the global climate had provided for our comfort (or discomfort) were too plain and boring. Therefore, we figured out ways to define our own spectacle of time as entertainment; there was season that we prefer to go shoot those cute little squeals in our front yard; there were seasons for sport enthusiasts to challenge each other; there was time when children must obey rules and sit quietly in confine environment; there were even seasons when the color of fabric deemed inappropriate to cover our naked bodies.

For personal interest sake I learn to adapt my own seasonal patterns very much like animals that evolve overtime to survive in the ever-changing, now globally warmed, environment; thus, without any doubt, summer is always the ultimate car season.

That doesn’t mean I don’t like car during the rest of the year, (oh no, far from that) but the leisure of having cool breeze tunneling into the driver’s cockpit under blazing hot sun somehow make me increasingly more passionate about what I love.
I have more time on hands, too (hint I have time to write this blog); and these precious moments of freedom translated into hours of Top Gear watching and petrol-head chitchats.

I was so intoxicated on this passion of mine I even made videos last summer (which you can find from my previous post).

Sometime, it troubles me how much I love the automobile industry that I would question myself if architecture is in fact the holy grail as my career path, especially when the construction industry is nothing by a spectacle of unemployment. Since my both of my all-time hero were both non-architects (Anthony Bourdain, being a cool middle-age chef and travel show host for “No Reservation”; while the other as an automobile expert and a TV commentator overwhelmed with ridiculous thoughts – Jeremy Clarkson), my architecture friends might find this particularly disturbing (since the architectural cult usually consisted of pure building believer and build shrine at home worshiping his/her favorite architect).

Until one day, in this summer, I chatted with a friend of mine who happened to be a petrol-head AND an engineer. In a general setting, we, as in my major of study, all know the relationship between engineers and architects are like oil and water; both hate each other but yet need the coexist with the opposing party.

However, in the case of my friend Roger Carter, he appreciates quality design as much as value engineering. Here, we are talking about a guy who know how much horsepower he can extract out of an engineer by reporting its port for 0.01 millimeter and the pitch change through an exhaust system while adding quarter of an inch to the pipe, yet he understand the different between a line drawn by a man with a pencil and one generate by silicon chips.

It is under these extraordinary circumstances when masterpiece is born, shocking the world (exceeded beyond design, architecture, and engineering) by surprise – Antonio Calatrava is certainly the perfect example for such occasion, caught within the delta area of spectacular aesthetic, monumental architectural gesture and mind-blowing engineering.

Now, wait a minute, with that being said, did I just reassured the security of my interest? If a grease monkey understood, and appreciated, the different between minimalistic-cold-architectural concrete and rotting-Victorian-Colonial state of mind, I could comfortably admit my disappointment toward the American automobile industry in the 90’s then admired the Mercedes 300SL as the most astonishing car men had ever created on the drafting board.

But until I can master the craft of impossible imagination, I will take advantage with this petrol-head season of mine; as I driving my coupe with the windows down and a pair of sepia sunglass on, I shall listen to Joyce Cooling, pretending I am living under the California driving culture, where the four seasons are monochromatic, people are as gorgeous as Italian sports cars, and the architectures are doubtlessly brilliant.